A First Time for Everything
by veryappropriatechoice
Summary: As a recently married woman, Shelagh prepares to entertain guests for the first time in her new home.
1. Chapter 1

**Here it is - my first attempt at writing for pleasure since I was maybe 12 or so, so be gentle - but I welcome feedback! **

**This takes place just weeks after the wedding, so no Angela or infertility troubles yet. **

**And these lovely characters belong to Heidi and crew at Neal Street, not me :)**

The clock on the kitchen wall read 7:15. Shelagh briefly hoped that the clock was wrong, that she still had the whole afternoon ahead of her, but she knew she couldn't fool herself. Shelagh closed her eyes and slowly counted to ten. The frown lines on her forehead faded and her breathing became more regular. She could do this.

She willed herself to open her eyes again, only to see Patrick bounding around the corner into the kitchen. She smiled inwardly, thinking, as she did countless times a day, that Patrick was incapable of walking normally into a room, particularly when he was excited.

He stopped short when he saw his normally efficient wife standing stock still in the middle of the kitchen. He had clearly interrupted a deep thought, he realized. His eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"Darling, are you all right?" he asked, taking her hands in his. She impatiently swatted his hands away.

"Quite. It is only that I have so much still to do."

Patrick smiled, unperturbed. "Shelagh, you've already accomplished so much. The flat is practically shining, it's so clean. And I've laid out the card table, and set up the chairs, so there's nothing more to do there."

Shelagh sighed. "But Patrick, the food. I have barely started. Not to mention the drinks. And I have not even started to think about freshening up, and –"

Patrick cut her off. "I have every confidence that you will pull this off, my love. I can't say I've ever seen you unprepared for anything. And on the subject of freshening up, I can attest with certainty that that is most unnecessary. You look wonderful, darling."

Shelagh's mouth opened in protest. Patrick shushed her by placing a finger gently on her lips. "I'm quite certain that this will be a wonderful evening. The Grahams won't be here for another 45 minutes yet, and I am most willing to help in any way I can. What shall I do?"

At that moment, the phone rang. Patrick crossed the room to answer it, while Shelagh busied herself with flipping through her new recipe book. A gift from the nurses on her wedding day, it was one of Shelagh's most treasured possessions as a new wife and mother. She had marked several pages in advance, so that she would be ready for this very moment. She had decided last week that she would make canapés, although at this very moment she could not for the life of her remember why. It was a card game; that was all it was. Placing some bowls of mixed nuts on the table would have been perfectly appropriate, she mused. Or so Jenny and Trixie had told her. But this was Shelagh's first time entertaining in her new home, as a new bride. She wanted to impress their guests, old friends of Patrick's, and she wanted to make her husband proud. Yet she couldn't help but feel frightfully incompetent. In her former life, she hadn't needed to impress. The starchy blue habit was her only wardrobe. Now she had a closet full of new dresses, purchased at Patrick's insistence. She had hairstyles to learn, although the nurses were more than happy to help. The only entertaining she did prior to her wedding was with the rest of the nuns – she had never been solely responsible for the outcome of a tea, or a supper. Yet here she was, a mere three weeks after her wedding, hosting a euchre night, of all things. Cards, food, drinks –

"Oh, the drinks," Shelagh fretted. She hoped gin and tonics would be acceptable. Patrick had insisted the Grahams were the least picky people he knew, particularly when it came to alcohol, but Shelagh's lack of education on cocktails (other than what she had picked up here and there from the nurses) had left her feeling self-conscious. She was the local GP's wife, and she knew that carried with it a whole slew of social responsibilities for which she deemed herself wholly unprepared.

She turned to the hatch to ask Patrick just one last time if he thought her choice of cocktails was suitable. She stopped suddenly when she saw his face, as he placed the telephone back into the receiver.

His large brown eyes gazed at her, and his head tilted in the endearing way it did when he was concerned about her. Fear rose in her chest. "Patrick, what is it? Is it Timothy?" she asked cautiously.

"Oh, darling, I'm so sorry. That was Roger Graham, I'm afraid. It seems that Louise has just found out her mother is gravely ill. They are taking off immediately to go to her. They won't be coming tonight." Patrick stopped speaking abruptly, nervous for Shelagh's reaction.

"Oh, dear. Oh, poor Louise. I must write to her first thing tomorrow," Shelagh murmured. Patrick smiled at his wife's instant concern for Louise. He should have known.

He joined her again in the kitchen. He placed a warm palm on her equally warm cheek, which was flushed from the hours of tidying and cleaning and planning. "Yes, of course. Shelagh, I'm sorry this evening hasn't worked out the way you had planned. You worked so hard to prepare for tonight."

Shelagh sighed, although not entirely unhappily. She had to admit, she was a little relieved. "Oh, Patrick, it's nothing. I had not even made any progress on the food. Nothing to worry about. Perhaps we can reschedule with the Grahams, once Louise's mother is feeling better," she offered. She was feeling generous, now that the stress of the evening had been released so quickly.

"I think that's a wonderful idea," Patrick said as he brushed his thumb lightly over her cheek. It couldn't be easy, he was well aware, to experience such a change in a few short months. Mere months ago, he had found her on the right road. Now she was his wife, and Timothy's new mother, and tonight she was experiencing the wide range of emotions that came along with entertaining guests, only to have the night cancelled unexpectedly. He delighted in seeing these "firsts" she encountered so often, even weeks after being married. Her first chance at entertaining, her first fretful night about a week ago, pacing around the kitchen, flipping back and forth the pages of her new cookbook, trying to decide on the perfect recipe. He even delighted in seeing her first experience at having a hosting opportunity cancelled, because he knew that, eventually, there wouldn't be nearly as many "firsts," as she settled in to life as Mrs. Turner. He knew she would quickly adapt, as she always did, and that these little learning moments for Shelagh would shrink in number and become less frequent. It would all soon become second nature.

He loved watching her navigate these new waters. There was something very intimate about watching a woman, notably one's nun-turned-wife, blossom into a new version of herself. Or, possibly, a version of Shelagh that had always existed, but remained hidden, and had now been given the opportunity to breathe. Patrick particularly loved the little surprises Shelagh discovered about herself along the way, such as the fact that she rather enjoyed being pampered at the hair salon, and the fact that she still loved going to the cinema as much as she had when she was a young girl. He especially loved the carefully and gradually unwrapped surprises in the bedroom…

Shelagh interrupted his thoughts by pulling away from his hand. "Patrick, dearest? Shall we fetch Timothy from Jack's house?"

Patrick paused, and gently shook his head. "No, darling, I don't think so. Jack's parents are prepared to have him spend the night, and I don't see any reason to interrupt their sleepover." Shelagh stared at him, the wheels obviously spinning in her mind.

He took her hands once again. "I think, my darling wife, that we should enjoy having the evening to ourselves tonight. We've got snacks, we've got cocktails, and we've got Jim Reeves, haven't we?" He quickly grasped the small of her back with one hand, the other hand still wrapped around hers. He swayed dramatically back and forth, pressing his cheek to Shelagh's.

She laughed softly in his ear. "We do, indeed." Her warm whisper sent shivers down his spine. He instinctively pulled her to him. She never stopped surprising him, he thought.

Patrick pulled away as quickly as he had pulled her to him, holding her at arm's length. The warmth of their bodies and their warm skin touching was a little too much for him and he knew he needed to take this slowly. "Well, good. I'll go put on the record. Shall you set out some snacks for us?"

Shelagh rolled her eyes. "Really, Patrick. You know I had not even started the food. All I have are some crisps and some nuts."

"Those sound like snacks to me! Get them out while I give us a little mood music," Patrick said with a wink. Shelagh again rolled her eyes before turning her back on him to reach into a cupboard, searching for bowls. He cursed himself silently, "_Not too much, Patrick! Not yet."_

Within minutes, Jim Reeves' baritone voice was crooning out from the record player, and Shelagh had assembled small bowls with crisps and nuts in the sitting room. Patrick had re-stashed the card table at the back of the hallway closet, and had returned the chairs to the kitchen table. At some point, Shelagh had disappeared into the bedroom.

Patrick fetched the gin, tonic, limes and two highball glasses from the kitchen and set them on the coffee table. He returned to the kitchen for ice, and called out, "Shelagh, dear, I'm making you a drink. Is that quite all right with you?"

She called from the bedroom, "Oh Patrick, I don't know. I'm not sure if I've the palate for gin." He bit his lip and pondered for a moment before responding, "Well, I'm making you one anyway." Silence.

He busied himself with concocting the drinks on the coffee table. A few minutes later, Shelagh appeared in the doorway. He looked up. The light from the hallway back-lit her tiny frame, and she seemed almost angelic. She had touched up her hair, and he thought he noticed some new lipstick – a tastefully sheer pink. He relished in the fact that she had freshened up just for him. Another happily received surprise.

"Shelagh, have a seat. These drinks are ready." Shelagh sat carefully on edge the sofa, eyeing the prepared drinks suspiciously. Patrick realized she would need talked through this.

"Darling, you've had a cocktail before. You had champagne at our wedding, and I know you've had wine with the nuns before. What are you concerned about?" he asked nicely.

"Well, I have never had gin, dear," Shelagh said frankly. "I'm not sure I will like it."

Patrick smiled and handed her the cocktail in question. "I think you might. G&Ts are fizzy and light."

Shelagh settled back into the sofa, and made sure Patrick was ready to take a sip, too. She wanted to experience this with him. She tipped the glass ever so slightly so that a miniscule taste hit the back of her throat. Her eyes widened, and she swallowed.

Patrick leaned forward, concerned. "Too strong?"

Shelagh licked her lips, pondering her answer. "No… no, I don't think so. Well, I guess I don't really know. It is quite an unusual taste, but I think I might enjoy it."

Patrick expertly raised a playful eyebrow. "Ah, I see. Full of surprises, aren't you?" he teased.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the rest! Not quite sure of the intricacies of the kettle scale, but I would say more than one and less than the maximum (whatever that may be) :)**

**And before you say anything – I'm going with the fact that they must have an upstairs. My headcanon says it's so.**

**Sadly, neither of these wonderful characters are mine, and instead belong to Heidi and crew.**

An hour later, Shelagh and Patrick were well into their third and fifth cocktails, respectively. Patrick, the designated bartender, had made Shelagh's a touch weaker the second and third time around, just in case. He appreciated the amount of trust she held for him, and was nervous about doing anything to compromise it. Patrick was pleased that she felt comfortable enough to let loose for a night in with him – another first. But making the drinks weaker seemed not to make much difference, as he could tell that his wife was quite tipsy by now.

"Patrick, I believe I may have had too many of these." Shelagh closed her eyes and waved absentmindedly towards the now-empty glass in front of her on the coffee table. Her eyes remained closed. Patrick stifled a laugh. Showing his amusement at her, even in her current state, would likely do nothing to help his ungentlemanly plans for the remainder of evening.

Patrick navigated his way to the kitchen to fetch Shelagh a glass of water. Shelagh knew he had gotten up from the couch, and when she heard the tap, she knew why. She couldn't bring herself to open her eyes yet. Everything felt too deliciously hazy, and she didn't want it to end. She felt more relaxed than she had in weeks, and a flash of guilt struck her as she realized it was solely due to the gin. Quickly banishing the thought from her mind for fear of letting it ruin such a great evening, she let her imagination wander. Patrick had been such a wonderful companion for the evening. He had been exceedingly charming, holding her hand while they discussed all sorts of topics, and grinning at her in his lopsided fashion, his hair flopping messily in his face, and she knew for certain that he had to be up to something. A tiny smile formed on her lips, as she let herself acknowledge what she thought it might be. Her cheeks, now flushed from the alcohol, burned even warmer with the thought of what potentially laid ahead. She was convinced she would never get used to her husband seducing her – not that she ever wanted to. But a thought was forming in her mind, one she tried to shake immediately, but one that stuck and engrained itself and continued to grow. Maybe tonight she would be the bold one. She shook her head to herself. No, she couldn't possibly… could she?

She wiggled contentedly into the back of the couch in a most un-Shelagh-like manner, and opened her eyes slowly. Patrick was standing over her, offering her a glass of water. She silently took it from him, and drained its contents.

Shelagh looked up at him, her startlingly blue eyes sparkling mischievously beneath her cat-eye frames. She seemed to have made up her mind about something. He caught his breath, suddenly overwhelmed by this fair-haired wife of his, with her deliciously pinked complexion and her prominent cheekbones, which were currently even more prominent with the pursing of her lips that he had learned to know so well. So often her pursed lips were a sign of her disapproval (he had already been on the receiving end of that look more times than he could count), but in the past few weeks, he had learned her playful smirk as well – the one that often accompanied an uncharacteristically naughty look or a brief unexpected stroke of his arm or neck. The same one she wore just now. He had only seen it in the privacy of their bedroom (well, and maybe just once in the kitchen while Timothy was upstairs bathing), and he felt unnaturally protective of that look, that look she reserved just for him.

"Patrick, darling, do be a dear and help me up." She daintily held out her hand, and Patrick again hid a smile. He gently grasped her hand, and pulled her up easily from her position on the couch. She teetered on her tiptoes for a moment before falling lightly into him. His arms enveloped her as she regained her balance. She placed both palms on his chest, smoothing the non-existent wrinkles in his jumper, and instinctively leaned her forehead into his neck.

"Shelagh…" Patrick murmured.

They looked at each other. The dizzying effect of the cocktails, the warmth of their embrace, and the sudden sensitivity of their skin had their hearts racing.

After an excruciating number of seconds, Patrick's lips quietly met Shelagh's. She sighed softly and happily, as she always did when they kissed. Of all the discoveries he had made regarding Shelagh, this was one of his favorites.

She tasted like gin, and he could still sense a hint of the stickiness of her new lipstick.

Their tender, relaxed kiss slowly deepened. Shelagh grasped at the front of Patrick's jumper, while the hands on Shelagh's back tightened their grip.

Moments later, Shelagh pulled back reluctantly. Breathing deeply, she glanced up at Patrick. His normally dark eyes seemed almost black, and she reveled in the fact that it was because of his desire for her. The craving in his eyes was apparent. Despite her hunger for air, the intensity of his gaze made Shelagh's heart stop, and she was once again left breathless.

Shelagh finally broke their gaze, letting her eyes wander lazily down Patrick. Her eyes followed a path from his wicked eyes to his slightly swollen lips. Her stare lingered there for a moment, as she unconsciously bit her own lip. She continued her path down to his chest. She once again smoothed the front of his jumper, partially to feel his solid chest beneath her, and partially to calm her nerves. Her shaking fingers reached up to toy with the knot of his tie, and she couldn't decide whether or not she should go further. Patrick sensed her hesitation, and covered her hand with his.

She took a deep but silent breath, and slowly pulled his hand away. Still grasping his hand, she guided it to her waist. His fingers instantly closed around the side of her petite waist, and his other hand followed suit. With Patrick's hands occupied, Shelagh was free to resume her work on his tie. She quickly loosened the knot (she had plenty of practice with putting it on and correctly assumed taking it off wasn't any more difficult), and slid the tie off his neck. She purposely caught his eye as she discarded the piece of silk with a toss over her shoulder. Patrick ducked his head down, and she was rewarded with a moan into her neck. A series of quick kisses fluttered over her tingly smooth skin, burning a trail from her jawbone to her barely exposed collarbone.

Shelagh drew back suddenly, her eyes speaking volumes.

"Shall we go upstairs?" Her voice was hoarse and full of emotion. Patrick nodded. Shelagh took his hand, guiding him wordlessly. She climbed the stairs, Patrick barely a step behind. The bowls and glasses lay forgotten on the table, and Jim Reeves was left serenading an empty room.


End file.
